A Long Time Coming

It's been less than 48 hours since Ernie left us. There's been a lot of tears and a lot of hurt.

However, a lot happened that day that has forever changed me, how I view horses, and how I see myself.

I don't know if I could possible explain everything that went on. Some of it borders on supernatural or of another realm, and some appears now to be part of what connects all of us together is this messy web of life. Whatever it was, whatever it is, I feel as though I've been blessed with something bigger than me.

Ernie went quietly and without struggle. Even the vet said later it was one of a handful of times in his entire career that he'd seen a horse so willing to go. There is no doubt in the minds of anyone who witness his passing that he was ready and thankful to be let go.

I never thought it would happen. Ever. Not with this horse. He fought so many battles in his long lifetime, I thought for sure this would be but another one, but it wasn't. I looked his eyes when I had a conversation with him that morning. Through tear-filled eyes and a shaky voice I told him he was going to take a trip, that I'd be with him until the end, that he was going somewhere good and that he'd be happy and pain free for the first time in a long time. I told him his stomach wouldn't hurt anymore, nor would his back and hips, and at that moment he started to flutter his eyes and chew softly. I about lost it. It was his way of saying, "That sounds good to me, thank you."

I cut a piece of both his mane and tail, and I pulled his shoes shortly before the vet arrived. He stood quietly on the cross-ties while I removed both shoes, and remained there calmly, with one foot cocked and his eyes closed as I cried to Eryn. "Just think, soon he won't be in pain, he'll be somewhere better, weaving away and being fed barbecue Fritos," she said (Ernie loved barbecue Fritos, and I fed him 3/4 of a bag that morning from my hand). My hope is he'll never have to weave again. My hope is he's in an endless pasture surrounded by other horses, with no walls or fences to limit him.

I didn't really lead him down to the bottom of the field, he led me. He's never been one to pull when being led: normally he likes to lag behind slightly. But he stayed right close to me, keeping the lead line taut the entire walk. When we got down beside the hole, he observed his surroundings, nuzzled me and sighed softly.

It took less than 3 minutes. I said my goodbyes, leaving his forelock wet with tears. The vet administered the sedative, and we stood quietly while he relaxed. About a minute later, the second round of shots were given. I kissed the sunken area above his eye, whispered "I love you," and slipped the halter off. Within seconds he buckled and fell as gracefully as would to lie down. I watched the light slip quickly from his eyes. Within moments he was gone.

I sat with him for what seemed like an eternity, stroking his face and crying what seemed like a lifetime of tears. I didn't need to see the vet check for a heartbeat or here him say "He's gone" to know he had already left me.

Eryn walked Stella down for me, so she could watch and say her own goodbyes. She never seemed particularly attached to Ernie, but they shared a field, a barn, and they shared me. They had their own particular sort of relationship. I now wonder if she never fought him off, or kicked back when he acted nasty to her because she knew how fragile he'd become. She watched the entire thing as calm as can be. Donnie said at one point soon after he'd gone, she lifted her head: her nostrils had gotten wide, her eyes fixed on him. What she saw or felt I don't know; perhaps she saw him leave. When I finally got up from stroking him, I went over to her and petted her neck. She curled her head towards me and nuzzled it into my stomach, letting me hug onto her head while I cried. All of this comfort, coming from a mare who'd barely let anyone pat her cheek for more than a few seconds. She's never been a cuddler or particularly affectionate. I looked up at Donnie, who immediately understood this was not a normal occurrence: this was something else.

For the past two days Stella has been herself but calmer. She's stood watch over Ernie's old paddock and stall, watching what appears to be nothing for hours on end. When I put her out in the pasture they used to share, she stood next to the fence, facing down the hill towards where Ernie is buried.

So many things have been said, so many thoughts have crossed my mind. There are too many things that have happened at such specific times, they can't be coincidences. I can't bring myself to discuss them all now: they'll come up I'm sure, in future posts. This blog will remain named "The Chronicles of Ernest", because while he may have left this earth, he is still with me. I still have memories and experiences, things that will never leave me. I want to to continue to share those, as well as my embarking on a new journey with Stella. Ernie's passing has given me a closer relationship with her: I've seen the changes already, and words cannot express how grateful I am to him for that. Part of me wonders if he was waiting for her to come along to the point where he knew I'd be taken care of, knew that I'd have the love of another horse, before he started to go downhill. He started to lose condition in March, right around when I first got on Stella and began her training under saddle.

This horse has forever changed my life in so many ways. I am a better person because of him, a better horse owner because of him. I gave him everything I could, and while it will never be enough for me, his passing with ease tells me he was content.

I miss you Ernie.